


Shattered Memories

by DaughterOfAthena



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Closeted Character, Foster Care, Foster homes, I am really going to hell, M/M, Minor Character Death(s), Personal Growth, Rape, Sexual Abuse, Underage Sex, What Have I Done, abusive childhood, coming to terms, emotional and physical abuse, foster kid, harm scars, i'll update tags as needed, underage drinking and smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9773681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfAthena/pseuds/DaughterOfAthena
Summary: Define childhood.I'm not asking for you to do so now, no. But instead, in our next session, I would like to know what childhood means to you. I would also like for you to explain what your childhood was like. Don't worry, no one is going to hear this story. I will only know what you tell me, and no one else. This is a safe room for you, don't fear.I would like to simply know what it was like for you growing up. I imagine difficult, yes? You've grown very strong for it, but I would like to learn who you are. There are still problems that need to be addressed, so we must go back to the beginning. The beginning is where ever you choose to begin. Take me as far back so you would like or feel comfortable doing. You are safe after all.Now, again. Our next session I would like that defined.What is childhood?





	1. Session One

**Author's Note:**

> So, due to a needed break from "With Only Without Magic," I decided to write this. I'm just having a MAJOR writers' block and needed something to break it.
> 
> So yeah.
> 
> All characters belong to dragon age/bioware.
> 
> But also, risky chapters with possible triggers will have warnings in the notes. Please read at your own risk. 
> 
> I'm going to hell btw.

Welcome back. It's been some time now, hasn't it? How have you been since our last session? I do hope that you're in good health, along with your loved ones. It's always good to have loved ones.

Now, for this session, I thought we might dig a bit deeper into the possible roots of the problems you've been having. I've noticed with some of my own research that your condition is not quite uncommon, yet is possibly explainable. Allow me to explain.

We have research to suggest your symptoms are linked to childhood trauma. Now, let me explain. As a child, we are still developing, learning the world around us. We place trust into the hands of those around us, such as parents, siblings, and so on. The way you've been behaving suggests that at an early stage in life, during the time in which trust is crucial to one's esteem, that that trust was betrayed. Now, this may be hard to bring up again, don't worry I understand. What needs to happen is that it is let out. Not during this first meeting, not all of it anyways. I want you to start and gradually open up, allowing the words to come out like a novel. Do you understand?

Now, are you relaxed? Please get comfortable. I don't know how long this will take, nor do you I presume. We are both trying to understand what it was like for you. Are you comfortable now? Why don't you lay back into your seat. Drop your shoulders. I promise that you are safe here. My office is safe and what you tell me today will not be leaked to those beyond that door over there. That door, to your right there. No one behind that can hear you or see you. They will not know your story, what happened to you, unless you tell them. I am the only person that will hear this story. Now, do you feel better?

If you must, you can take a break. If you need a moment to sob, perhaps, or to recollect your thoughts, I will not rush you. You see, this is a safe place for you to be honest. 

Is the leather couch warm now? I would hope. You've been relaxed there for some time. Let me grab my clipboard and pen please, then you can begin your story. I won't rush you. Please allow for the words to come naturally to you. 

Yes, yes this clipboard. You see here, this one, my wife gave it to me. A charming woman she is. Yes, both of my boys are doing fine. My eldest one just won his first swimming competition. My younger son is trying out for his middle school baseball team. I am very proud of them. They are my loved ones, of course, and I keep them very close. Do you keep your loved ones close?

Now, shall we begin? I will start with a simple question and from there, that is where your story will begin. No detail is too small. Everything matters so that I may understand fully who you are. 

Now. My question.

What was the worst part of your childhood?


	2. Amarth

Childhood: the state of being a child.

Child: a young human being below the age of puberty or below the legal age of majority.

Society dictates the definition. If the definition was simple enough as saying it was the time before a person was legally an adult, then Amarth would have been a child and had a childhood. But if the definition had been specific;

Childhood: Where the opposite sex had cooties, Pokémon was life, a kiss made the pain go away, the ice cream man was God, green veggies were the devil, finger painting and nap time went hand-n-hand.

Then Amarth did not have a childhood.

Amarth did not get finger painting and nap time. He didn't get to hold sweaty dollar bills as he raced down the street to catch the ice cream truck. He didn't get to have a GameBoy to battle Pokémon with friends. He didn't get to giggle and run away or towards girls to spread cooties. He didn't get kisses on his scraped knees or elbows to make the ouchies go away. His meals didn't usually include veggies that made him whine and complain. Amarth didn't get to skip rope at the playground, to play tag with the other kids, and to play hide-n-seek. There was not making chalk art on the sidewalk on a summer's afternoon and running inside for popsicles. 

There was no childhood. 

Amarth's father had died before he was born, leaving his mother to take care of him. He was only three when she passed away, leaving him alone. No other family was left to care for him, since both families didn't want the union between them. Amarth had spent close to a week crying in the home alone until officers came and rescued him. No one had told him what it was like; what the house looked like, what he looked like, what his mother looked like, laying in her bed dead. He was five when a woman took him as her foster child. She had been kind, older, but kind. She took care of him, made pancakes in the mornings and read him stories at night. But when the police learned that her husband was actually dead and not just on a deployment, Amarth was taken. He was seven when he reentered the foster system. 

"Delinquent," he muttered. Amarth was eight now. What he had to his name was a small cot, two shirts, three pairs of pants, four boxers, three socks, a pair of old sneakers, and a necklace with a bird on it. He had found the necklace at his last home, with the older woman. He was playing in the street when he picked it up. The woman asked where he found it, and seeing no problem, allowed Amarth to keep the small thing. None of the adults knew about the necklace. He kept it under his shirt at all times. 

Amarth had no friends in the foster home for foster children. The children there were much older or much younger. Some of them had been there multiple times, and others had been in there for the first time. The younger kids were quiet, patient, and didn't say much. The older ones were rowdy, impatient, and had hateful glares as adults walked by. Amarth didn't blame them. The adults didn't care; the kids were just numbers he thought. He understood that they didn't care much if he only had three socks and none of the adults wanted to help him get a new one. Or get new socks. The one he was wearing was wet and had a hole in it. The other one, the one that he wasn't wearing, wasn't much better. He wanted a new sock. 

But, again, Amarth muttered the word delinquent and stared at the ground. There were adults in the room now, looking at the kids. They would want the cute little ones; maybe the little girl with pale skin and silky chestnut hair. Or they would pick the little boy with bright green eyes and honey hair. They wouldn't want the older boy with dark skin or curly hair, or the twin girls with black hair and small eyes. They would want the giggling baby girl with the pink ribbon in her hair, or the boy with a striped shirt and hands smaller than the blocks he played with. They wouldn't want the eight year old frowning boy with tanned skin, dark green eyes, freckles, and dirty blonde hair that looked like it wasn't washed. They wouldn't want the eight year old boy worrying his lip as he watched a different couple pick up the giggling baby girl and claim her as theirs. The couple walking past him wouldn't want him because he was a delinquent and when you were a delinquent, no one wanted you. That's what the big kids said. They wouldn't want Amarth. 

So Amarth watched couple after couple walk in to look at the children playing in their playroom. It was raining, raining hard. Amarth wasn't allowed outside when it rained, but some adults went out while it rained. When the lights went off for the night, Amarth would go outside though. His room had a platform outside the window and he could go out, climb down the ladder, and go play by himself. He had watched a couple big kids do it one time. At first the big kids didn't like him coming along, but after the third time, they allowed him to join. The big kids did bad things, or so they told him. They had sticks they made smoke with and painted on walls. One of the big kids had a ring in her nose. Amarth thought it was pretty. But one of the big kids was taken out. Amarth had asked the girl with the pretty nose ring and she said he had turned eighteen and couldn't be there. She told the little boy that she would be eighteen in a few months and would find him. They wanted to live together. Another boy from the big kid group was taken out because he was put into a house. Two girls were taken by the police. Amarth didn't know where they went. 

But Amarth stared out the window to watch the rain hit the pane, racing each other. He picked a droplet, picked another one, and watched them race, trying to predict which one would make it to the bottom first.

The second one won.

"Amando-"

"Amarth," the small boy said, his voice innocent. So much had yet to be corrupted. His only worry was the rain and his sock.

"Right," a woman said. "My bad." It was her bad. His name wasn't hard to remember. But then again, he was a number and not a person. That's what the big kids said. But the woman didn't leave, instead speaking up to say, "come child. There's some lovely folks that want to see you."

The innocent child turned from the window, staring a minute longer before looking at the lady. It was the lady that handled the papers with his name on it. Social worker, that's what the old woman called her. Social workers weren't very nice. They forgot to give Amarth a new sock.

The child was escorted out of the play room, all the others staring at him. It was rare for older children to be picked, even if they were only eight. Amarth wasn't six and cute. He was nearly ten and soon twelve. Grown ups didn't want children that were old. They wanted little kids, small ones. It was the same with dogs, Amarth thought. Grown ups want puppies and don't like dogs. Soon he would be a dog, like the older kids. That's what the older kids said about foster kids. It was a pound for humans, and only the puppies got out because they were cute and easily tamed. Once a child became a dog, they were no longer wanted because they thought for themselves. Amarth didn't want to be a dog.

The woman was tall, wore shoes with long stubs on the bottom that made clanking sounds on the wooden floor. It was very annoying at night when Amarth wanted to sleep and she would stomp through the room with her shoes. Heels, that's what they were called. The older girl said she wanted a pair, but bigger, and wanted to dance with them. She said it was a good way to make money. Amarth didn't understand. But his social worker didn't dance. She had papers and short black hair, tied into a ponytail. Amarth followed her into a room with two people sitting behind a desk. No, they were in front of the desk. Amarth and the lady were walking to sit behind the desk. The little boy climbed into the chair, struggling a moment to sit all the way back, his back pressed against the back rest. His feet were dangling off the edge. It was a really big chair, like for the man at the store with a very large stomach. He would fit well in the chair. Amarth could only stare at his feet. His foot was cold, the one with the wet sock. 

Amarth stared at the man and woman across from him. The woman had blonde hair, tied back into a braided bun. Her skin was flawless and powdery, like she put doughnut powder on her cheeks and forehead. Her eyelashes were really big and fluttered like butterfly wings. Her lips were a dark red that looked like blood. Amarth had seen blood before. He cut his finger and the kind old lady patched him up. He liked the old lady. The man beside the woman looked scary. He had dark brown hair and fair skin. His piercing brown eyes made Amarth squirm in his seat. But neither man or woman looked at Amarth. The couple looked at the social worker, not the child. 

Amarth tried to listen to them. He didn't like listening to the social worker. 

"Are you sure about this one, Mrs. Heinrich?"

"Of course," the woman said, her voice sounding different. She didn't sound like an American. Amarth didn't like her sound. 

The man beside her nodded. "If my wife fancies this one, we will take him."

The social worker nodded. "Certainly. He has been in another home before and I see you have a biological child and another foster child. Are you sure about this?"

Both of them nodded, and proceeded to sign papers with the social worker. Amarth was told to wait by his bed and to pack all his stuff. That would mean all his clothes would need packed into his small bag, including his one sock. Of course, he nodded and climbed out of the chair, running off to do as told. As he did pack, Amarth noticed that kids were looking. The older kids had stronger glares, like knives and fire were being shot towards Amarth. The littler ones were looking with envy and hopefulness. Amarth couldn't tell if he was happy to be going to a new home, one with two other kids, or if he was terrified. He didn't know these people and didn't trust them. They looked scary, and the lady reminded him of the evil lady off the Dalmatian movie but without the fur coat and weird hair.

When the two adults came back with his social worker, Amarth was escorted out of the home. He was taken to a shiny white car, one that probably belonged to rich people. Amarth didn't think it was a car for children. But he was told to sit in the back of the car, to buckle up, and to stay quiet. The social worker handed the papers in her hands to the man and woman and the two got in the car. The man sat behind the wheel, adjusted the mirrors, and buckled up. The woman buckled up and opened the visor in the car, and as the man started driving, she began adjusting her make-up. She reapplied her lipstick and put on more liquid stuff on her eyelashes. Amarth fidgeted and wanted to say something, wanted to tell the people that he didn't like them, but the woman glanced in the mirror at the small boy.

"Stop fidgeting, pet. And stay quiet. No one wants to hear a child."


	3. Samuel

Never staying in one place.

That's what childhood was.

It was never staying in one place very long, never making friends, and never making roots. It was staying for a couple months, maybe a year, and than packing up everything and leaving for a new home. It was trying to remember which address was the current one and which color house was his. It was trying to make a bedroom more homely only to be taken out of that room. It was staring out the car window for hours until the newest house came into view and the cycle started again. That was childhood.

Samuel Hawke was only ten, his younger siblings were four. They didn't know that this was their life; to move from house to house, to never stay for long. They didn't know they wouldn't make friends, have fun in school, and they wouldn't feel like they belonged. Samuel felt that way. He had been in at least seven different schools, never stayed long enough to remember a teacher or a single friend, and always dreaded a new school. In the fall he would begin his fifth grade year, having to remember the few things he could from his last school. Last year had been one of the worst years since he moved schools half way through the year. He hated it, having to learn everything all over again. He hated having to watch all the kids playing together, having friends, and he had no one. No one wanted to talk to the new kid, and when they did, he would be gone the next month. His summer breaks were spent packing and unpacking from one house to another, going to see where he'd be at school, and hating every second of it.

Honestly, Samuel didn't want a new school. He wanted a nice home in a nice neighborhood, one with a back yard and a play set to play on. He wanted a swing and a slide, maybe a sandbox to make sand castles with his baby brother and sister. If he couldn't have a jungle gym of his own, he'd want a park nearby that had a set to play on. He'd want a nice school with nice kids, people that would want to play tag with him, to be his partner in partner activities, and that wouldn't let him be the lonely kid with no group to do games with. 

He wanted to belong. 

"Just a couple more hours, Sammy," Leandra Hawke said, looking back at her three children. Bethany sat in the car seat between Samuel and Carver. Carver and Bethany were both passed out, exhausted from the car ride. Bethany and Carver were holding hands, being connected in whatever way it meant to be for a twin. Samuel was staring out the window, trying to figure out where they were this time. His mother's words barely reached him as he counted the houses passing by. He was only at two. 

"Why do we have to move again?" he asked, not turning to look at his saddened mother. Some days, when his father wasn't home, his mother looked very sad. She would stare out the window, and when Samuel asked what she was doing, Leandra would say, "watching the birds, that's all. Quite lovely here. Maybe more lovely than the last house." But all Samuel really wanted was to be in bed, asleep. It was possibly only five in the afternoon, but the car ride was uncomfortable and long, and he just wanted to be home. Moving just didn't make any sense.

"Your father's job makes him move a lot," Leandra said. "He works very hard for us, Samuel." All his mother got was a disappointed huff and silence. Honestly, Samuel loved his father. When Malcolm came home after work, he'd roll around on the ground with his baby siblings and would play with Samuel too. Samuel would ask him for help when his homework was too difficult, or couldn't remember something from the previous year. Sometimes the two would go outside when the babies were asleep. The two would throw a baseball, maybe a football, they even skipped rocks one time when a house had a pond behind it. Those would be the times when Samuel would ask his father too many questions.

"Can we get a dog, dad?" He asked one time.

"Why do you want a dog?" Malcolm asked, skipping his rock five times.

Samuel shrugged and tossed his rock. It made a _thump_ sound as it sank. "Because I like dogs. And other kids at school have dogs." 

Samuel looked at his father, waiting for an answer. "I'm sorry." Samuel's small smile fell. "I'm sorry, Sammy. We can't have a dog yet. Not with your brother and sister being so little, and not with all the moving we have to do."

He had been seven when he asked that. The day ended with a sour taste in his mouth, not eating his dinner, and staying awake all night to stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. Malcolm always said that; he always made the excuse that because they moved they couldn't do something, couldn't get something. 

Samuel rested his head against the window, staring at his father's head rest. He wanted to kick it, but didn't. He turned his head to continue to stare out the window, feeling the cold glass on the left side of his face. A bundle of black locks fell in his face, or at least blocked his view. The ends of his hair were curling slightly, making them unruly and difficult to tame more often than not nowadays. Samuel tried to focus on something other than his hair, deciding that the barely visible reflection was a perfect choice. He could see the bright caramel eyes that he, Malcolm and Bethany had. Samuel hated how is eyes looked, wishing he had the pretty blue that his mother and Carver had. All the kids at school that he tried to talk to had blue eyes. It seemed that the kids with blue eyes always had friends. Maybe his eyes were the reason he didn't have any friends. He was too young to realize that wasn't the reason, oh but it felt like that was the reason. 

The oldest Hawke child adjusted his seatbelt multiple times, trying to get comfortable. He shifted and tried to sit closer to Bethany's car seat, close to the window, then gave each side equal space. He tried to bring his feet to the seat then tried to rest them against his father's seat. When that failed, Samuel decided to dangle his feet. The car ride was beginning to be uncomfortable and hard to take a nap. If he napped long enough, they would be at the house and wouldn't have to unpack. If he slept like his brother and sister, he wouldn't have to help carry in boxers or furniture. He would be able to stay in the car or carried into house to sleep on the air mattress that they specifically had for moving. 

But a neighborhood never did appear and Samuel never got comfortable. A bright sign in neon red appeared, reading _motel_. The boy frowned and looked to where his mother was sitting. "Mom, where are we?" He asked. Malcolm parked the car outside the main building, getting out. Leandra just turned around, moving as best as she could to face her awake son. "A motel, Sammy. Your father has been driving for hours, and we aren't close to the new house yet."

When Malcolm got back in the car and parked it, both of Samuel's parents got the babies out. Leandra took Carver and Malcolm took Bethany. Samuel was left to get himself out of the car. At first, his legs wobbled and buckled, so he reached out to the car to steady himself. This was the worst part; finally getting out the car and wobbling like a baby giraffe. It took a couple steps before Samuel felt comfortable walking. 

The gravel parking lot told Samuel that the motel wasn't new, that it had been there for years. A quick glance around the area let Samuel know that they were in the middle of nowhere. There was a highway, or interstate, Samuel didn't know the difference. A couple cars zoomed by and a semi truck without a trailer. It was the sound of his father's voice that made Samuel turn around and run to him, run to their motel room. The room wasn't much nicer than the outside.

The walls were a dirty yellows, the blankets were red with weird flowers all over them. The carpet was dingy and smelled like dog. There had been a no dog sign, so maybe some people just smelt really bad. There were three lamps, two beds, and a small bathroom in the back, cut off by a door. Samuel could only see the toilet, but imagined it was like any other motel with a shower and sink too. The kitchen in the back was simply a counter and a microwave. The boy looked at the walls, finding a picture of a house in the woods. It was red, looked like it was wooden, and in his head, Samuel thought he heard the birds that would be outside that house. His mom would like those birds. 

The alarm clock showed that it was nine o'clock. It would be time to go to sleep soon, but the twins weren't going to have that. They were awake now, oblivious to the fact that they weren't in their home but a motel. Samuel decided against giving into sleep to sit on the floor with his siblings, smiling at them. Carver's hair was growing out, soon to be in his face. Their mother would need to get his hair cut, along with Samuel's. But Bethany had heir hair in pigtails. Soon it would be long enough to put into one ponytail then to braid it. Carver was playing with his two toy cars; one was yellow and the other was green. He made them hit each other, the yellow one flipping onto its side as the little boy said _boom_. Bethany had two cars too; a blue one and a pink one. She was playing more easily with her cars and when Samuel sat down, she looked at her big brother with her big, hazel brown eyes and smiled. She passed the pink car to Samuel, and he couldn't help but take it, playing with his baby siblings. Bethany made car noises and pretended to race Samuel, which he pretended to lose their race. At the end of the race, Carver used his yellow car to hit Samuel's. Samuel was going to say something, that the yellow car had crashed and wasn't going to do that, but let his brother pretend it was okay. Bethany's blue car then hit Carver's green car. It was after fifteen minutes of playing with the cars that Samuel gave the pink car back to Bethany, which she took and rammed it into Carver's yellow car.

The oldest child decided he had had enough for the day and climbed onto one of the beds. He knew that he would have to share with his brother and sister since his parents slept in the same bed. When he was younger, before the twins, he would get a bed by himself. But now the three children slept together in one bed. 

Samuel crawled under the covers, bundling up into a ball. The sheets were cold and felt wrong, like they always did. None of the sheets felt right, even when they were on the bed in his new house. It was moments later that he felt someone kiss the top of his head, realizing it was his mother as soon as he heard a quiet voice say, "Good night, Sammy. We'll be home soon."


	4. Hadiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, disclaimer;  
> I am not religious, but I did attend a Baptist church for like 3 years of my life. Some of the church scenes will reference my own experiences.
> 
> Also, if I get something with Islamic teachings/culture with Rain and her family, please don't hesitate to correct me! I've tried to do some research for a Muslim character and want to make sure that Muslims are represented fairly!
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading!!

Leviticus 20:13: "If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them."

What that meant was hard to understand as a child. What did that have to do with the Bible, about God's and Jesus's love? Wasn't love what Jesus wanted to give to people of the world? Why would someone be called an abomination? 

It was hard growing up, to every other Sunday to hear that verse repeated. It was hard sitting in the Sunday school classes with all the other little kids, hearing the teacher tell them about the homosexuals that are causing more and more sin in the world. Hadiden had no idea what that meant sometimes, but understood that sinning was bad. What the teacher preached about homosexuals being bad didn't make sense. Hadiden always believed that they should be preaching love, in whatever form it came in. That's what never made sense.

But he wouldn't understand until later. For now, Hadiden Lavellan was left to figure out why he always needed to dress up on Sundays. The shirt was always stuffy, the jacket making it hard for him to move his arms. The shoes were always hard to walk in and made weird sounds when they rubbed together. The tie was always too tight and made it hard for Hadiden to breathe. He didn't like dressing up because the church was always hot, mainly upstairs. All the kids went upstairs for their Sunday school classes while the grown ups were downstairs. Hadiden's mother and father were always came to church, which meant he had to go to. He once had to miss a birthday party because he had to go to church. It was really unfair in Hadiden's opinion because it was a pool party too, and he wanted to go swimming! Hadiden had locked himself in his room for a week afterwords until the next Sunday. His father had unscrewed Hadiden's door from the frame just to drag him out of his room, to get him in his dress clothes, and to get to church on time. Hadiden hid in the bathroom that Sunday, and his Sunday school teacher confronted his parents about it. They weren't happy.

But this Sunday was like every other Sunday. Coloring pages about Noah's Arch and how Jesus loved all his children. Hadiden got another sticker on the chart on the wall to say that he showed up. He always had more stars than the other kids. He also knew the most verses since his parents usually made him repeat them. When it was time to go, Hadiden had to go into the grown up room to find his parents, like always. They were usually at the alter, talking to the pastor. Hadiden had to tug on his father's jacket to get his attention, quietly whispering _Dad_ to get his attention. It was another ten minutes before his parents were done talking to the pastor. The small child followed his parents out of the church, staying quiet until they reached the car. Once in and buckled, his father started the car and Hadiden stared out the window.

"Can I go play outside today?" He asked, staring at the houses passing by. A clicking sound came from the front seat. His mother was checking her make up in her little mirror again. She always did that after church.

"With who?" His father asked. Jarron always wanted to know who he would play with. 

Hadiden bit his lip before saying, "Rain and Sera." He looked away from his window to look in the mirror in the front to look at his father. He watched as Jarron's eyebrows knitted together, looking disappointed.

"Wouldn't you rather play with the boys on the street? What about the Cousland boy? Or... Anudia, what is the Trevelyan boy's name?" He asked. Hadiden's mother looked at her husband. "The Cousland boy? That's Bryce and Eleanor's son, Micheal. I was talking with Eleanor and hear they're moving soon. Somewhere south, I believe. Connor is Vane and Stella's boy. I much rather you play with Connor and Michael, Hadiden. They're both very religious."

Hadiden huffed. "Sera is religious! Just because she doesn't go to our church like Connor and Michael doesn't mean she isn't. And so is Rain-"

"Rain's family is Muslim," Jarron retorted. Hadiden stared. What did that matter?

"So? She says she believes in God too," Hadiden said. 

Anudia shook her head. "Her god is not our God. And Sera isn't a Baptist. I don't think she goes to church."

Hadiden made an exaggerated sound and pouted, staring out the window. "Fine. I'll play with Michael and Connor at the park," he lied. Well, it wasn't a complete lie, because he would play with them too, but he was going to play with Sera and Rain too.

When they pulled into their driveway after a long, quiet car ride, Hadiden was first out of the car and inside to go change. The boy yanked off his Sunday best to put on his plaid shorts and a solid colored shirt. He made sure to match his green and blue plaid shorts with a blue shirt. His parents would make him change if he didn't match. He quickly stopped in the bathroom to fluff up his golden locks, getting them wet to get the hair gel out of it. When he got to the park, the sun would dry his hair and his natural waves would curl and tangle into a glorious mess. The boy raced down the stairs to quickly tie up his black shoes, running out the door to almost run into his father.

"Leaving so soon?" Jarron asked. Hadiden nodded and said, "I'm going to go ask if Connor will come play at the park. Then we will get Michael." With his father's affirmative nod, Hadiden ran down the street. 

The park wasn't too far. It was at least a street and a half away from where Hadiden lived. Connor lived next door to the park while Michael lived on the other end of the street. However, this Sunday, Rain and Sera were already at the park, sitting on the monkey bars with Michael. Hadiden figured Connor would show up after his church let out. His father should have known that Connor wasn't home yet. When the girls and Michael seen Hadiden approach, Sera called out, "Elf! Get over here!" 

Doing as the freckled blonde said, Hadiden raced to the monkey bars. His lanky arms and legs helped him up to sit on top of the bars with his three friends, grinning. Sera threw something at Hadiden, which ended up being mulch from the playground, and Michael and Rain laughed.

"Sera, you owe me now. You said he wouldn't make it," Michael said.

Sera blew a raspberry, making Hadiden laugh. "I don't owe you a thing!"

Michael pouted. "But you said he wouldn't come because his parents! I told you he would come!"

"I can't confirm this because I wasn't here," Rain said. Hadiden smiled at her. "Because prayer?" When Rain nodded, Hadiden was glad he could remember.

Rain Adaar had moved to the neighborhood when Hadiden was about two. Apparently her family faced some hardship when they first came, but after four years, most of the neighborhood adores them. Except for Hadiden's parents. She was in his first grade class and she was really smart. Sometimes she had to leave class, but after talking to her, Hadiden learned why she left class. He also got to meet her parents one time because her dad was a doctor. At first, Hadiden had been nervous because her mom was wearing a giant scarf around her head, but it was a pretty pink with flowers on it. And she smiled really big when Hadiden said it was pretty. Rain, on the other hand, didn't have the head scarf. She said her mom said she could have one if she wanted when she was older, so Rain braided her jet black hair everyday. Sometimes Hadiden would help. Sera tried one time and knotted it up. 

Michael Cousland, on the other hand, was similar to Hadiden. His parents were very important, his dad being in the government and his mother was a business woman. His older brother, Fergus, was already in middle school and played soccer. Hadiden met Fergus one time and he was really cool, and really tall! But Michael didn't have blond hair. Michael's was a chocolate brown that fell in perfect waves. His grey eyes were piercing and cold, but he was the sweetest boy ever. He wasn't in the same first grade class as Hadiden, but he had the same recess time, so they got to play tag and swing together with Rain and Connor. He was the first friend Hadiden made when he asked if the blond wanted to play tag.

Sera was in the second grade but lived next door to Rain, so she joined their small group of friends in no time. The freckled blonde was energetic and loud, a lot louder than Hadiden. Hadiden knew his parents didn't like Sera because she wasn't their religion, but Hadiden liked her because one of the kids was picking on him and she threw some dirt at him. She got in trouble, but she was nice and made him feel welcome. 

"If we can stop debating who said what, why not talk 'bout what's important?" Sera asked. The blonde girl took off her flip flop and was about to hit the monkey bars like a judge would hit his hammer, but Hadiden said, "wait! Connor isn't here!"

Everyone collectively looked around, noticing that Connor was in fact, not there. But Michael said, "We can tell him later."

"Tell him what?"

Rain frowned, pulling her braid over her shoulder and saying, "Michael is moving."

The children all went silent. Moving was a dreadful topic for children. It meant leaving friends and having to make new ones, hoping they were nice and would play playground games with them. It was terrifying. 

But Michael nodded and quietly said, "my dad got a job in another county. He's going to be governor of our state and needs to move to the capital. He says we don't have to leave for a month." 

Hadiden frowned. He didn't want Michael to leave. He thought of Michael as a close friend and was... well he was cute. But to a six year old, everyone was cute. 

But Hadiden couldn't add more to their discussion because the booming voice of his father made his heart and stomach drop. The boy nearly fell from the monkey bars in a panic as he tried to get down, to tell his father he was just playing. When his small feet hit the mulch, Hadiden's arm was yanked as his father scolded him in front of his friends. It was rare, but Hadiden began crying as his father yelled at him all the way to their house. The crying didn't stop, only worsened when he was bent over his father's knee and spanked as punishment. He was sent to his room until dinner and was ordered not to speak at the table. Hadiden continued to cry as he was forced to his room, his door being locked from the outside and unable to unlock from the inside. The small boy found himself crawling under his bed, sobbing silently until his body shut down, making him go to sleep.

This wouldn't be the last time Hadiden cried because of his parents' restrictive rules.


	5. Session Two

It's good to see you again. How is your health? I hope you're doing well. Being sick is no fun, and tiresome. Don't you agree? 

If you remember from our last session, you started your story at the beginning, or what could be considered your beginning. Your life wasn't easy, there is no doubt there. A young child has a lot to deal with, socially and mentally speaking. You should not have had to deal with that as young as you were. Childhood should have been a time of ease and development, not hardship. 

Now, in our last first session, I asked you to define childhood and to begin telling me of what it meant to you, and your worst memory from it. You did quite well. I would like to develop on this theme and to remember the question that I asked you at the end of our last meeting. Do you remember it? Maybe I can jog your memory.

You were sitting in that seat, that one over that. It was the leather couch, you see. You were comfortable, if you can remember. You had your head against the rest, your shoulders relaxed, and you began talking. You let out great deal of secrets. I'm proud of you, and told you so. You then asked me if anyone else would hear who you said, and I assured you that no one but myself would hear your tale. I explained that if you want to tell others, that is you choice. What you told me will be my secret. You then nodded and asked if I wanted to know anything else. I asked if there was anymore details you wanted to explain from your story, and that took you about thirty minutes. You felt comfortable, yes? I hope so. You seemed very comfortable with telling me about your secrets.

Once the tale was spun, your first few pages of your story, you asked me about our next meeting. I told you that we would see each other again in a month and that I had homework for you. You seemed weary of the idea. I assured you that it was nothing hard. It was only a question.

Do you remember the question yet?

Well, I'm sure you have the answer, even if you can't remember the question.

Why don't you continue your story and tell me the question once you remember?


	6. Amarth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, hey there dude.   
> Warning before you keep reading, there's a rape scene here. It's not extremely detailed but it's there and there's no mistaking it.
> 
> That's your warning my dudes. Continue to read at your own willingness or risk.

It was barely past noon when Amarth walked through the door of the Heinrich's home. It wasn't his home, never felt like his home, so it was a house and not a home to him. But it was a place to sleep, a place with food, and it was a place without Whitney, his social worker. 

But the house was also Amarth's hell.

As he stepped through the door, the boy stopped to take off his shoes and to hang his backpack up on the coatrack. In a couple hours, his black backpack would be joined by Ceylon's pink, rose covered one, and Tamlen's dark green one. It wouldn't be too long until Ceylon's sandals and Tamlen's Nike's joined Amarth's black Converse. But it would be too long for witnesses to come home. The damage would already have been done.

It had been five years since Amarth was taken in by Levius and his wife. It was a record for Amarth; to stay in a home for five years and not be kicked out. There were hard times, like the punishment. Any time Amarth did wrong, Levius would get a belt and spank him with it. Sometimes the belt missed his butt and there would be a mark left on his back. More and more recently, the belt hardly hit his butt but rather it scarred his back. But all Amarth had to do was make it through another five years and he could leave, could do what he wanted, and no one could stop him. It would be he spent a decade in a home and that was a big achievement on its own. 

But Amarth decided to go into the kitchen, to grab something to eat. School had denied him lunch and sent him home. 

"What are you doing home?" A voice asked. Amarth peeked up from the fridge door to see Levius standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms crossed across his chest. Amarth didn't care, pulling a water bottle from the fridge and then closed it. 

Amarth just took a sip of his water and shrugged. "The principal sent me home."

"Why?"

"Some kid was being mean to me, I called him out on it and threw a punch in class, and now I'm suspended for three days," Amarth said. More recently, kids at school had been calling him names. He could connect it to growing his hair out, braiding it like a girl. His hair was growing faster than he had expected and it was darkening. It was no longer just a dirty blond color, like Tamlen's, but now it was turning an almond brown. It was a better contrast to his tanned skin than the lighter color was, and it made him look like an outsider. He didn't look related to Tamlen, and definitely not Ceylon. Ceylon had jet black hair, just like her mother and copper eyes like her father. 

But the bullying didn't have to do with his looks. Well, sort of. He didn't look like his _siblings_ which told all his classmates that he was adopted. The teasing started with "at least my parents wanted me" and usually ended with "my parents actually love me." Sometimes, when kids got testy, they would say "maybe you should have been aborted." Those days caused Amarth to hide in the boy's restroom and cry, mostly because his parents did want him, but they passed away. No one would believe that, but Amarth knew that, doubting it a few times. Sometimes his mind would wonder if his parents would be alive if he hadn't been born. His mother would have been radiant and beautiful, a caring woman. His father would have been there to protect her, no doubt, and they would have been beautiful together. But he tried to ignore that. 

It seemed that Levius didn't care to know what the kids were doing. If it was his precious girl Ceylon, there would be a problem. Because it was the _pet_ of the house, no one cared. Even Tamlen received better treatment than Amarth. But it didn't matter. Levius yelled at Amarth to go to his room, that his punishment would come later, and to not come down until dinner. The foster boy didn't care, didn't hesitate to march upstairs and to close his door. He flopped onto the bed and hugged his pillow, smiling to himself. He could take a nap, work on that drawing he started a few nights ago, or finish the mural in his closet. Levius wouldn't see to his punishment until later, when the family was home.

But Amarth was very wrong. 

He had dozed off to nap, to catch up on some sleep he missed from going to school. It couldn't have been more than an hour that Amarth was asleep when he felt a hand around his throat. He was being pushed into his bed, held there so that he was unable to move. The side of his was pressed into his pillow, his hands grasping at the blankets with no avail. The more the struggles to get away made it harder to breathe, to fight. Something was very wrong. 

The sharp smell of whiskey flooded Amarth's senses, over powering the words that tried to float into his ears. It was the overwhelming bitterness of that liquor that he would never forget, would always be reminded of, that would leave an imprint on him. The feeling of his clothes being pushed off, pooling around his chest and ankles would haunt him anytime the smell of alcohol surrounded him. The burning feeling of _what the hell is that_ inside of him would leave him a scarred heap of a person. The sensation wouldn't pass, only worsened as he struggled to get away from the whiskey smell and the tearing of his insides.

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt so much. Amarth wanted it to stop, wanted to scream for it to end. He wanted to cry, to maybe feel something other than the burning pain. It was without warning when the first thing was joined by a second, a third, a fourth. It was by the time the third one pushed into Amarth that the boy realized it was _fingersmore_ was shoved into him. God be his witness that that was the moment when Amarth realized that he was truly a lost cause, that no one in the world truly cared. Because if someone cared, he would not have been put into Levius's home, would not be strangled and struggling under a drunk Levius. If someone cared, he would not have had his innocence yanked from him in such a brutal manner, to be choking on screams of pain as a man that was to be his guardian took advantage of his body. He wasn't built to fight. He was lanky, a possible track star than a football player. He was built was dexterity, not what was happening. 

By the time it was over, Amarth's body felt raw, hot, abused, _wrong_. He didn't fit into his own skin, didn't want to be in his skin, didn't understand the tears that were drying on his cheeks. He didn't like the sticky feeling between his legs, the legs that he could barely force close. He couldn't move, couldn't force himself to move from the position he was left in. His hands were still trying to grasp for a hold, something, to pull away from the pain. His head was still pressed to the sheets, but he watched a stumbling figure walk out his door, slamming it. Something was said, something along the lines of "say anything and it'll be worse," but it was slurred and hard to understand. But Amarth didn't care, didn't want to care. Didn't want to move. Thirty minutes, forty five minutes, an hour passed before Amarth finally moved, finally closed his legs and let out a choked off sob. He slowly curled around himself, hugging himself into a ball to disappear. He hurt, everything hurt, and it was not okay. 

It was when he heard the front door downstairs and the voices of the other two children that Amarth forced himself into silence, forced himself to replace his clothes with something else. Slowly, carefully not to hurt himself anymore than he already was, Amarth pulled off his boxers, his skinny jeans, and Ramones tee shirt. Even more carefully, Amarth put on a clean pair of boxers, a pair of plaid sweat pants, and a black, long sleeved shirt. He slightly hobbled to his wall mirror to look at himself, to inspect the damage. More tears formed at the sight of the red hand marks on his throat, the dried up tear stains on his cheeks, at his pulled out braid, and how _small_ he looked. He carefully untied the rest of his hair and let it fall loosely to his shoulders, guessing that it was now an inch past his collar bone. Slowly, he worked his hair into a messed up bun and opened his door. 

_It's the rule. If Levius or Jacqueline want to check on me, they have that right. I'm nothing but a pet in this house._

Amarth turned to his bed; the site of his attack. Tears welled up in his eyes, but instead of allowing them to floor down like a waterfall, the boy fought them back and walked to the bed. He yanked the dirty, abused cover off the bed and bundled it so that any evidence of the event was hidden. He slowly made his way out of his room and went to the bathroom down the hall, shoving the bundle into the dirty clothes hamper and went back to his room. In his room, however, was a familiar smiling blond.

"I got your work for you," he said. Amarth nodded and took the papers that Tamlen handed him. Tamlen was only two years older than Amarth, and treated the other foster boy like family. Tamlen liked to joke that the two of them were secretly brothers reunited by luck and fate. Amarth wanted to believe that they were family, even if a small part argued and said that was impossible. Tamlen was the only to actually treat Amarth like a person in the house. 

"Thanks," he muttered and dropped the papers onto his desk. He would work on them, give them to Tamlen in the morning, and pray that God be his protector so that he wouldn't be... wouldn't be... 

So that he wouldn't be raped again.

The idea seemed so ridiculous that admitting it to himself silently was near impossible. It couldn't have happened, not to him. But it did. It happened, and he would be forever scarred from it. 

Tamlen must have sensed something was wrong because he put an arm around Amarth and said, "those kids at school don't know you like I do. Don't worry, okay? I love you, and I'm your family." 

He was smiling, glorious and bright. It was something to hang onto. Amarth wished he could smile at that very moment, wanted to smile for Tamlen. But he couldn't. He didn't know, wouldn't know. Nothing would be the same, couldn't be the same. Amarth wasn't the same boy, wasn't allowed to be, and he couldn't even tell anyone why. He hoped that this was the last time it would happen.

Because it couldn't get worse, could it?


	7. Samuel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I'm trying to catch up with everything and man this chapter was rewritten like four times. 
> 
> But enjoy!

Varric Tethras; journalist, senior, and master of hearing every detail of the school. That's the title that Samuel had heard about the student. At first he didn't believe it, but when his homeroom class issued out the year's first copy of Kirkwall High Articles, he believed every word of the claims about the senior.

_A Friend in the Guard_

_Aveline Vallen, newest sophomore here at Kirkwall High, wants to shatter old prejudices in the school's rugby team. The former Fereldan Greyhound decided to try out for the Kirkwall Guards this summer, trying to reclaim a spot she previously held on her old team. The only barrier is the old tradition of the school's rugby team being all male._

_"I was well respected on my old team," Vallen said. "The Greyhounds had a mix of females and males. The females worked just as hard, maybe harder, to be a part of the team. I don't understand why I'm not allowed on at this team."_

_Vallen and I have been petitioning the school board since she felt the injustice of the genders restricted team. Our principal, Mr. Dumar, has reviewed the packets we have submitted and said that he will contact his supervisors as soon as possible. Vallen said until that packet is reviewed by higher authorities, she will continue to apply pressure to the current couches to allow her to play on the all male Kirkwall Guard._

The article continued, but that wasn't the important part. Samuel had to admit, the writer of the article was taking on a big job of attacking the Guard with his story. He had gone on to say that the Guard was being beat by mixed teams, so why weren't they mixing themselves? The Guard was the only team yet to add females to the team within the district. Varric was taking a risk by publishing something controversial like a mixed rugby team. But most people seemed enthralled with the debate over whether they should or shouldn't let Aveline play. 

Aveline Vallen was in his second period class, he remembered from the day before. She sat near the front, orange hair always tied back, and knew most of the answers. Honestly, Samuel wasn't a fan of the class, never having been good with physics. He wanted to take chemistry and math classes, maybe an art class, but he needed the physics credit knocked out as soon as possible. 

"Hawke," a voice said. The teenager looked up from the paper, mumbling out _yes?_. It was his teacher. Fuck, he wasn't paying attention and missed the question. 

Samuel felt his face heat up as he tried to figure out the question, maybe get an answer, but the teacher just shook his head as he asked another student the same question. Samuel slumped down further into his seat, avoiding the looks of his classmates. He hated it at his new schools.

Thankfully, Samuel was able to make it through his morning classes up until lunch. The freshman had made the mistake to go down a new hallway to get to the cafeteria quicker because a man twice his size pinned him against the lockers. Samuel wiggled to get free, staring at the student in front of him. He was tall, a bit more muscles than his own, fire red hair, and a menacing grin. 

"Listen here, freshmeat. You're going to hand me your wallet, I'm going to take the wallet, and you're going to walk away," the upperclassman demanded. Samuel was about to do what the man asked when he heard someone walking. Unfortunately, the student didn't remove his grip on the oldest Hawke. 

All too suddenly a book was beat on top of the menacing student's head as a voice said, "if you're going to bully a student's lunch money, you should probably stay out of my halls to do it." 

The attacking student stumbles back and looked at his attacker, suddenly stepping back and turning away, getting out of the hall. Samuel looked to see his timely rescuer; a short blond man with a pencil behind his ear, a proud grin, and a large golden chain around his neck. Samuel hesitated, trying to figure out if this guy wanted his wallet too or what. Surely he didn't rescue him out of the goodness of his heart. 

"Varric Tethras, at your service," the student, Varric said. Samuel gawked at the man, not fully believing that this was the Varric; the journalist, the storyteller, the man to know every inch of the school. 

"Samuel Hawke," Samuel introduced. Varric gestured for Samuel to follow him, turning away from the cafeteria and down to a new classroom. 

"Hawke. You're the new student is Vallen's class? The quiet kid that doesn't say a word, is in honors classes all except for your first period class. That Hawke?" Varric asked. Samuel stared at his as they walked into a classroom, already filled with a few more students.

"How'd you know that?" Samuel asked. Varric laughed. 

"Eyes and ears eveywhere. Now, let me introduce you, Hawke." Varric gave a gran gesture to the small classroom. It too a minute before Samuel knew that the room was. There were several computers, two printers, a white board with colored words and sections divided by titles. There were students chatting, notebooks and pens scattered, and three boxes of pizza on top of the five desks in the center of the room. 

"Hawke, over by the computer is Rivaini." Varric pointed to a girl with a gold stud under her lip and large gold hoop earrings. She waved. "The one sitting in the spinning chair is Daisy." The girl with jet black hair looked up and smiled, waving excitedly. "Technically, she's in middle school. But she wanted a journalism class and she hangs out in here during her lunch. The man leaving the red room, him, that's Blondie." The blond man with a ponytail had a slice of pizza in his mouth and papers in hand. He only nodded. "We have two more. One of them is a new student too, a sophomore boy. The other is a Choir Boy, but he's in the choir room getting a story for me," Varric said, shrugging.

"Help yourself to some pizza and make yourself at home," Varric offered to Hawke. Samuel hesitated, completely out of his element. The girl with the black hair leapt from her seat and hugged onto Samuel's arm, guiding him away from Varric. 

"Varric! Don't you think you've freaked him out? The poor boy is new and you're bombarding him with new people," Daisy said. She was pouting.

"N-No, it's okay-" Samuel tried to say. 

"Oh, Kitten, I'm sure he'll adjust," Rivaini said, hopping off of the computer counter and grabbing a slice of pizza.

"Says you, Isabela. I remember last year when I was shuffled into here and 'bout had a heat attack," Blondie said to Rivaini (Isabela?). The woman shrugged. 

"That's because you were you a little... " Rivaini made a fake joint and pretended to smoke it. Blondie turned bright red. 

What the hell had Samuel been roped into?

That's when Varric motioned for him to follow him to a larger desk, the desk meant for the teacher. Samuel sat across from him and watched as he pulled out to Mountain Dews from under the table. The one passed to Samuel was cold.

"I know this is shocking, believe me, we've all been the new kid around. But this here, we've all heard a thing or two about you, Hawke. I particularly want to add you into this because I have this gut feeling that you belong. Now, you don't have to stay, but you're more than welcome." Varric leaned back in his chair, putting his feet onto his desk. 

Samuel looked around the room. He looked back at the three people in the room, watching another boy walk in. The new boy had slicked back red hair and a smile as he greeted everyone and picked up a slice of pizza. He made himself comfortable at lone standing desk, close to the whiteboard, and began chatting with the others. Samuel turned back to Varric. The man just sat there, waiting. 

"But I don't know how to be a journalist," Samuel admitted. Varric grinned. 

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll teach you." 

 

Varric had driven Samuel home. It was the first time that Samuel didn't have to walk to his house, and when they parked, he invited Varric in. 

"My parents won't be home until later tonight. My brother and sister will be home in half an hour since the middle school lets out half an hour later." Samuel turned a key and walked through the door. Varric gladly walked in and whistled. 

"Nice place. Mom and Dad work?" Samuel nodded. "Doesn't look homely."

"We might move again soon," Samuel said. "We move a lot. Never in one place long."

Varric frowned but didn't comment. The two boys went into the kitchen, and Samuel began making two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He made one with strawberry jelly, because Carver hated the grape, and the other with grape because Bethany hated strawberry jelly. He then asked if Varric wanted anything and stopped when he realized Varric was already in his fridge, pouring two glasses of milk, then grabbing two root beers. Samuel placed the sandwiches on the kitchen island and took one of the two sodas, taking a drink and thanking Varric. He then opened the cabinets and got out a Little Debbie oatmeal cream pie cookie and a rainbow brownie. The placed the brownie next to Bethany's plate and the cookie by Carver's. 

"You do this every day?" Varric asked. Samuel nodded. 

"I don't think they eat lunch at school, so I make them something to eat when they get home," Samuel said, before taking another drink. "Mom won't be home in enough time to make them dinner and I would rather than didn't go hungry."

"Do you make them breakfast too?"

"If Dad doesn't get up early enough to, yes, sometimes Dad will make us breakfast, but it's been getting rarer and rarer."

There was a moment of silence before the two started a new conversation. They started talking about their families, the dysfunction of them. Varric had a prized older brother that was starting to lose it. Varric was worried, and Samuel felt bad. He said he had a crazy uncle that refuses to talk to their family after their mother married their father. It was only when the twins came home that their chit chat ended. 

Samuel smiled at his siblings and watched as they took the remaining seats at the island, starting to eat their lunches and giving Varric worried glances.

"Bethany, Carver, this is Varric. He's a friend from my school," Samuel introduced.

"A pleasure to meet you," Varric said. "Boy, Samuel. He looks like a mini you. You two have the same nose and ears. He's like a Hawke Junior." 

"I am not a mini Samuel!" Carver argued. 

"Carver, he's being nice," Bethany said. She gently placed a hand on Carver's shoulder. "Sammy is a good brother. You can be like him too."

"I don't want to. I want to be Carver," Carver pouted. It was only for a minute before he stopped and started to eat again. 

That's when Samuel looked at Varric and seen a shit eating grin. Varric mouthed _Sammy?_ and Samuel's face went red. 

The four talked for awhile. Well, mostly Varric. He started telling Bethany and Carver stories about high school and what he's done. Some of it Samuel believed. The other parts he didn't. The part about putting a car on the roof? Exaggerated. Covering the principal's office with gift wrap. Believable. Changing all the real fruit in the cafeteria with the fake fruit? Possible, but unlikely. Changing the morning announcements to a script from a movie? Maybe. But Bethany and Carver are the stories up, believing every tale the man told. When it started to get late, Varric had to leave, saying his brother's head would explode if he didn't get home soon. Samuel understood and said he needed to cook dinner anyways, and Bethany and Carver needed to work on their homework. 

 

"Goodnight, Bethany," Samuel said before kissing his little sister's forehead. She looked at her brother a moment before yawning, rolling over. She held close one of her stuffed animals, and Samuel quietly backed out of the room. When he door was closed, he turned to go down the hall to his and Carver's room. Carver was standing in the doorway. Samuel frowned. 

"I thought you'd already be in bed, Carver," Samuel said. Carver shook his head. 

"When's Mom and Dad coming home? They're always home for dinner and now it's bedtime and they're not home," Carver asked. Samuel frowned and ushered his little brother to his bed. 

"I don't know," Samuel admitted. "But, I'm sure they'll be home soon. But you need to get to bed. Isn't baseball try outs tomorrow?"

Carver nodded and crawled into his bed. Samuel sat on the edge and tucked his brother into his bed. 

"You'll come to my try outs and my games right? And get me from practices?" Carver asked. Samuel nodded and smiled.

"Of course. And I'll even practice in the yard with you." Samuel watched Carver a minute before saying, "you're going to do great. Get some sleep and I'll see you at breakfast and at the try outs."

Carver nodded and told Samuel he loved him and goodnight. Samuel did the same and closed their door when he left. The eldest child then went downstairs to finish the dishes. It was only 10 o'clock, but they should have been home... 

It was half past midnight when Leandra walked in, however. Samuel had fallen asleep on the couch, waiting for his parents. He wanted to tell his parents off for coming in late, scaring the twins that they weren't coming home. But a bit of his anger went away when he realized only his mother was home. 

"Mom? Where's Dad?" Samuel asked. He stood from the couch, setting the blanket he was curled in on the sofa. He quickly ran over to his mom as he watched her collapse to the ground, her back against the front door. Samuel almost began panicking, asking if she was having a heart attack or something. But then she started sobbing. 

"Mom? Mom what's the matter? Where's Dad?" Samuel asked again. Leandra wasn't answering until she let out a sob and said, "crash."

The word meant nothing until Leandra managed more. 

"He was coming home, from work, and a semi... oh Samuel! The police called me to tell me he was on his way to the hospital... but when I got there." Leandra sobbed, burying her face into her coat. Her words began to soak into Samuel's brain and it hit him like a truck too. He wanted to cry, to sob with his mother.

But a quiet, "momma?" from behind told Samuel that he couldn't. Not now. Samuel rose from his spot to see both Bethany and Carver, holding hands and staring at their weeping mother. Samuel quickly got to them to block them, turning them to escort them to their rooms. Samuel told Carver to wait in their room and he would be there in a minute. Bethany was asking what was wrong, why their mom was crying, but Samuel lied. He told his baby sister that Malcolm had gone on a business trip and momma was sad. For a minute, it seemed, that Bethany believed him. He got her tucked into bed and sleeping again. 

Carver was a little harder. He didn't believe the lie as easily. But Samuel assured him it was okay, that he would still be there for try outs, and everything was fine. When he little brother was falling asleep again, Samuel returned to his mother. He got her off the floor, up to bed, and tucked in. He brought her some water and told her it going to be okay. Dad was in a better place but they'd be okay.

Samuel didn't get a lot sleep. Too many thoughts running in his head on how to fix what his father left broken.


End file.
